Love and Liberty
by eurochick
Summary: During the war, Sarah and James married and had a daughter, Liberty. Now she's all grown up, and when a figure from her past makes a surprising reappearance, will it finally be the love affair she's been dreaming of? Please read and review!
1. The Dinner Guest

_I guess this is the place for the disclaimer, so here it is: I do not own Liberty's Kids. I am a big fan, though. I used to watch it every day after school until they took it off the air. There are enough stories about Sarah and James, though, so I decided to write one about their daughter Liberty, who is a character of my own creation. I hope you guys like it. Please read and review, but be gentle, since this is my first try at writing something like this. If I get enough positive reviews, I'll submit the rest of the story; I already have it all written._

August 1789: "Good gracious, child, come set the table!" Thirteen year old Liberty Hiller scowled at the sound of her mother's voice. She didn't want to set the table, not when she would much rather be reading a book. Folding down the top of the page to mark her place, she stood up and went from the parlor to the dining room. She paused before the china cabinet.

"Do you want me to use the regular dishes or the fancy blue ones?" she asked her mother.

"Better make it the blue ones. Your father said he was bringing a special guest."

"Do you know who it is, Mama?"

"Not for the life of me. I simply cannot imagine who your father would invite that he feels he can't tell me about."

Pursing her lips and trying to think who it could be, Liberty took down the good blue china dishes and began to set the table. She had just finished when she heard her father at the front door.

"Papa!" yelled her two year old brother Peter, who was just learning to talk. The front door swung open and her father stepped into the front hall, hanging his hat on the hook in the wall. Mrs. Hiller came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

"James," she said in her clipped British accent, which she still had even after living in America for the past sixteen years. Mr. Hiller pulled his wife into his arms and kissed her soundly on the lips. They had been married for thirteen years, but they were still obviously, passionately, in love. Liberty sighed at the sight. She would give anything to have a love like her parents' love. To know that she was everything to a man, and to know that he was everything to her... But she supposed that such love was too rare for her to find.

The sound of her mother's voice brought her back from her own thoughts. "Who have you brought to dinner tonight? I've been dying to know all day."

"I think you'll be surprised, Sarah." He motioned for whoever was standing outside to come in. "May I present Mr. Henri LeFerve, just off the boat from France."

Liberty's mother gave a little shriek, clapping her hands to her mouth. "My God! James! What? When? How? Why?"

Liberty was puzzled by her mother's reaction. Henri LeFevre. Why did that name sound so familiar? She took a good look at him as he stepped into the entranceway. He looked to be a young man in his early twenties, tall, with smooth olive skin. She took him in from head to toe. He had a good head of dark brown hair, matched in brilliance only by his perfect white teeth and well muscled arms. But his eyes... Those eyes were something else entirely. They were a deep, warm, rich brown, just perfect for losing herself in. And she was just starting to, when she felt her father's hand on her arm.

"Shake hands, Liberty," he whispered, anxious that his oldest daughter should not embarrass him.

Recollecting herself, she took Henri's proffered hand in her own and gave it a firm shake. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. LeFevre."

"Please do call me Henri," he said, surprised by the firmness and boldness of her handshake. He took a good look at her. My, she certainly had grown up since he had seen her last, seven and a half years ago. Then she had been only a little girl, with freckles and blonde ringlets. But now... She was most definitely all grown up. Her hair was just as blonde as ever, but now, instead of being in ringlets, it fell in one long French braid down her back, shimmering in the sunlight that came through the window. Her skin, once so sunburned and freckled from playing outside, was now so smooth, like porcelain, with just the hint of pink in her cheeks. And her lips...so full, so pink, so lucious. He shook himself from his reverie. What was he thinking? She was still ten years his junior; she was still only thirteen. He wouldn't allow himself to feel such things for her, he just wouldn't allow it.

Liberty felt her cheeks flush at the sound of his voice. His English had the most attractive foreign twist to it. Where was it her father had said he was from? Oh yeah, Paris. How fascinating! "Call me Liberty," she said in a half whisper. What was it she was doing? He was only one man, an attractive man, granted, but still, and here she was, letting down her guard so soon after they had been introduced.

"Yes, of course," he was saying, "that's what I called you seven years ago. Although I do remember you looking a bit different then."

Seven years ago? What was he talking about? She tried to think back that far. How old would she have been? Six. She would have been six. That was the year her family moved to New York City, where they had lived for two years. Was that where she had met him? But no, she seemed to remember his name from before then. She stole a glance at her parents, hoping they could explain, but she noticed that they both looked a bit uncomfortable, and that her mother was biting her lip.

"Shall we go eat?" Mr. Hiller asked, "I'm sure the three of us have a lot of catching up to do."

"I think that's for the best," replied his wife, "We've saved the best place for you, Henri."

"I would be honored to sit and eat with you," their guest replied, "I've waited so long to see you all again. It would be a pleasure."

Mr. and Mrs. Hiller lead the way into the dining room, followed by Henri, with Liberty at his side. The rest of the Hiller children, all eight of them, trailed behind. They all pulled out the dining room chairs, dark cherry with stars carved into the backs, and sat. Liberty's father said the blessing, the dishes were passed, and the meal began.


	2. Questions Answered, Questions Raised

_Ok, I'll admit that I had sort of given up on this story for awhile. I didn't think anyone was reading it, and I was really busy with stuff for school anyways. But then I saw that I had 130 hits and a review (thanks, writachicka!), and so I decided to give it another try. I changed a few details from the show for the sake of the story, but I hope you all still like it as well as I do..._

Liberty picked at the roast and potatoes on her plate. She was too nervous and confused to eat. Who was Henri LeFerve, just what was he doing here, and how was she supposed to know him already? It just didn't add up. She decided to listen to the conversation he was having with her parents, hoping that it would provide some answers.

"So, how have things been since we saw you last?" her father was asking.

"Well, in the fall of 1784, I went back to Paris, where some distant relatives of mine helped me through school. I stayed there for the next five years. But the revolution, as you well know, is tearing my country apart. So I left. But before I did, I wrote a letter to you, James, asking you if you would help me get my bearings when I came back to Philadelphia. You said yes, so I packed up, left, and came here. I was met down at the dock, and well, you know the rest."

"Oh, I just can't get over seeing you again," said Mrs. Hiller, "It's been much, much too long, hasn't it?"

"It has indeed."

"But what are you going to do now that you're here?"

"I have taken a room at Mrs. Peterson's boardinghouse, down the street. And if I can get a loan, I plan on opening my own store It's been a dream of mine ever since I went back to France. But everything depends on getting some money. I don't suppose you could be of any help..." His voice trailed off.

"Sorry, but we have no money to spare," said Mr. Hiller, "What with the economy the way it is and all."

"Ah yes, that is a sad state of affairs, is it not?"

From there, Mr. LeFevre and her father began a discussion of money and business. Liberty soon lost interest, and returned to picking at her food, stealing glances at Henri as she ate. He certainly was attractive. Those eyes especially. Especially since they seemed to be fixed on her.

After supper was over, Liberty stood with her parents in the front hall to say goodbye to their guest. She watched her father shake his hand and make plans to get together sometime soon. Her mother wrapped him in a tender hug, saying "I can't get over seeing you, Henri. You seem so grown up."

"As does your family, Sarah." Liberty's mother blushed and laughed.

Then Mr. LeFevre turned to Liberty herself. "It was my pleasure to meet you again after so many years. You've certainly grown into a very lovely young woman. I can hardly believe I used to read you bedtime stories." He took her hand, and giving her no time to protest, raised it to his lips and kissed it.

"The pleasure, Mr. LeFevre," whispered Liberty, blushing, "was all mine, I assure you."

"Please call me Henri," he said fondly, "You used to."

Oh Lord, her face was absolutely on fire. He kissed her hand once more, tipped his hat to her mother and father, and vanished into the gathering dusk.

As soon as he was gone and the door closed behind him, Liberty turned to her mother and father. "Who was he?" she asked, her voice shaking just a little.

Mrs. Hiller took her daughter's hand. "Perhaps you should help me with the dishes, Liberty."

"Not until you tell me who he is and how he knows me, when I can't recall ever having seen him before in my life."

"Well, if you helped me, I would tell you while we worked. Now come to the kitchen and I'll explain it all to you."

Liberty allowed her mother to lead her into the kitchen without another word. While they worked over a soapy tub of hot water, Mrs. Hiller began the story.

"His name, as I'm sure you gathered already, is Henri LeFevre. When I moved to the colonies in 1773, he was already living here with your father and Ben. You remember Ben, don't you? I'm sure you do. But at any rate, he was just a little seven year old boy when I first met him. He was there when I married your father, and he was one of the first people to see you when you were born. But then your father and I moved with you and Mercy and the twins to New York in 1782, and Henri stayed behind. Until tonight, your father and I hadn't seen him, and I hadn't even heard from him. But it's so nice to have him back. He was always such a nice boy, and he's grown up well, it seems."

"You mean, he's known me since I was a baby?" She could hardly believe it.

"Not only since you were a baby. He's known you since you were two hours old, when you were just a little tiny thing. My, how time does fly." And she wrapped her daughter in an impulsive hug.

Later that night, Liberty sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair and thinking about what her mother had told her. Mr. LeFevre-Henri- had known her for her entire life? She tried to think back to her early childhood, the period of her life before her family had moved to New York. She put down her hairbrush and just sat there, deep in thought. And then it began to come to her. Images of her early childhood began to filter back. There she was as a little child, maybe all of four or five, shortly before her parents decided to move. Mercy had been only two then, and the twins were tiny babies, all too young to play with. But there had been Henri. Sure, he had been fourteen or fifteen, but he had never been too busy to play with her.

She remembered asking him to read her stories, or asking him to play dolls with her. Blushing at the thought, she tried to picture his face in her mind. He had always been tall, she remembered that much, and he had always had such perfect white teeth. But the power and intensity of his eyes, that was something new. Or had they always been that way, and she had just been too young to notice? Maybe that was it. A girl of five wouldn't notice the same things that a girl of thirteen would. Oh, he was so attractive that she could hardly stand it. Was it possible that he would ever come to think of her as something more than just a little girl? It did seem like he had been watching her a great deal throughout dinner. But there had to be a logical explanation for that. Maybe it was that he had been surprised at her appearance, not because he found her beautiful, but rather for some other reason. For Liberty often greatly undervalued her own looks. She was a very beautiful girl, she just didn't know it.

Picking up her brush again, she looked over at her sleeping eleven year old sister Mercy, with whom she shared a room. No, it was impossible that Henri could love her. There was about as much chance of that as there was of him falling in love with her sister. She finished with her hair, which now spread shining and golden over her shoulders, tied it back with a ribbon, and climbed into bed.

"Goodnight, Mercy," she whispered, blowing out the candle. Her sister mumbled a response, and Liberty was left to lie in the dark and look up at the ceiling, thinking and wondering about this mysterious figure from her past, this Henri LeFevre.

Meanwhile, Henri was thinking about Liberty. He thought about her as he walked to his boardinghouse in the deepening twilight; he thought about her as he said goodnight to Mrs. Peterson and went upstairs; he thought about her as he opened the door to his room; and when he finally had some privacy, he flopped back onto his bed and thought about her some more.

He thought with satisfaction about her slender figure, her golden hair, her big blue eyes. But most of all, he thought about her lips. How he longed to kiss them, to know what they felt like. But then he had to stop himself. This was dangerous territory, and he knew it. After all, wasn't she the same little girl he'd known all those years ago? She was, though he had a hard time believing it. He thought back to that time, letting his mind wander back over the years. He had been about fourteen; she had been about four. What a cute child she had been, with a little freckled face and bouncy blonde ringlets. What was it she used to say to him? Oh yeah. "Come play with me, Henri! Come read me a story, Henri!" And if he would say no, she would just pout until he changed his mind. But it had been very seldom that he ever said no in the first place. Liberty had been the kind of child you just couldn't say no to. How long ago was it now that she had started to become so dear to him? Close on ten years, it was. Even when she had been little, he had always subconsciously thought of her as his. When there had been nothing else to do, she had always been there to play with. And he had been wrong to dote on her so, but nevertheless, he had. And now she was all grown up, and, he realized with a start, he loved her. He loved her.

Sitting up, he put his head in his hands and tried to fight back the emotions that welled up within him. He hardly knew why he felt like crying, but he suspected that it had something to do with all these newly discovered feelings for her. It was all futile, and he knew it. Not only was she ten years his junior, but she was still only thirteen. And that was a fact that could not be overcome. And besides that, he had known her father and mother for years and years. What would they think if they knew? This love for her was something to keep absolutely quiet, he felt. He owed everyone no less than that.

The clock struck ten thirty, and he knew it was time to be getting to bed. Tomorrow he would begin the process of looking for a loan to open his store. He pulled off his shirt and climbed beneath the quilt, blowing out the candle on his bedside table. And as he said his prayers, he couldn't help slipping in an extra one for Liberty, so newly grown up and so newly beautiful.


	3. A Questionable Business Deal

_Sorry for the wait, but it was exam week at school. Anyways, I just want to say thanks to those of you who have taken the time to review my story and add it to your favorites list! When I started writing this story, I wasn't sure if anyone was going to read it, so it feels wonderful to know that people are not only reading it, but also really enjoying it. You guys are my inspiration. This chapter is for you. _

The next day, Henri put on his finest waistcoat and jacket, consulted his hastily scribbled directions, and set out to see Prentice Hawthorne. Hawthorne was one of the richest men in the city, since he had not only inherited the massive Hawthorne banking fortune, but had also doubled it in size since then. Henri hoped he could be the man to loan him the money he so desperately needed.

He set off along the sidewalk, thinking about Liberty as he walked along. It was a beautiful day for entertaining such thoughts. The sky was a bright, brilliant blue, with just the finest wisps of cloud, it was warm but not overly hot, and the whole city seemed to open before him, his for the taking. If only Liberty was as well. He thought of her, of her lovely voice, of her exquisite beauty, of the soft blush that had spread across her cheeks when he had said her name last night. She was the reason why getting this loan had suddenly become so critical. He had to get that money so that maybe, in a few years time, he could have some way to prove that he was worthy of her. With all these thoughts swirling in his mind, he somehow found himself at Hawthorne's front door, heart pounding with nervousness. He put up a hand and knocked before he could change his mind.

The door was opened by a thin redhead in a black maid's dress. "May I help you, sir?"

"I have an appointment with Mr. Hawthorne," he said, hoping that James had actually made the appointment like he'd promised.

"Name please?" she asked cautiously as he stepped into the foyer.

"Henri LeFevre."

"Ah yes, Mr. LeFevre. Right this way, if you please, master's been expecting you."

Henri followed her down a long, lushly carpeted hall, stopping in front of an ominous looking paneled door. She knocked, and a voice from within answered, "Yes?"

"It's Sophie, sir. A Mr. LeFevre's here to see you, sir."

"Well, don't just stand out there, show him in."

Sophie gave the doorknob a sharp twist and showed Henri into Hawthorne's study. It was one of the most decadant rooms Henri had ever been in. Three of the walls had floor to ceiling bookshelves, the fourth had floor to ceiling windows hung with burgundy drapes. A large oak desk sat before this wall, and behind the desk sat Hawthorne. He was a large, meaty, middle aged man, with graying black hair and piercing black eyes, one of which glared at Henri through a monocle. "That's fine, Sophie, you can leave us now," he said to his nervous looking maid, as he motioned for Henri to sit down. The maid closed the door as she left, and for a frightened second, Henri wondered whether or not he had made the right decision in coming here.

"So," began Hawthorne after close to a minute had passed, "What brings you here?"

"I hear you're in the business of giving loans..." began Henri, desperately hoping that his face wasn't betraying his anxiety.

"On occasion." Hawthorne's voice was brusque, no nonsense, all business.

"And I'm here to inquire after one."

"For what purpose?"

"Well, I'm looking to open a store, a general store of sorts, but to do so, I need a, I need a..." He let his voice trail off, unable to actually make himself say the word.

Hawthorne flipped open the large black leather covered ledger that sat on his desk. "Let's just see what we can do for you," he said, as he began to thumb through its well worn pages.

Several hours later, Henri was in secure possession of the needed finances. There was just one small matter left to discuss: how long he had to pay back the loan. "So," he began tentatively, "How long do I have to, uh, pay you back?"

A knowing, sly look passed across Hawthorne's face. "Well, actually, you see, I have a special deal for you. A one of a kind deal. I thought it up just now while we were sitting here."

"And what would that be?" asked Henri, beginning to wish he had never come. He didn't like where this was going.

"Are you single, Mr. LeFevre?"

Henri nodded, thoroughly confused. "Let's put it this way, Mr. LeFevre. I'm willing to forgive the loan. That means you won't have to pay it back, not ever." He paused to let this sink in. "Of course, there is one condition to this offer, and that is this: I will forgive the loan, but only if you marry my daughter Anne."

Henri nearly fell out of his chair in shock. "If I do what?" he choked out.

"If you marry my daughter Anne. She's fifteen now, so we'll wait a few years, of course. She's a good girl, Mr. LeFevre, and I wouldn't give her away to just anyone. But you, you're not just anyone. You strike me, Mr. LeFevre, as an honest, hardworking, dependable young man. And that is why I'm making you such an extraordinary offer. So how about it? You won't find such a deal just anywhere."

Henri felt his spirits sinking down to his toes, along with his heart. How could he agree to this? Just when he had realized after all these years that Liberty was the one for him, and just when he finally had this chance to provide for her, there had to be this condition on it. He just couldn't do it. But he suddenly realized that he didn't have much of a choice. Looking at Hawthorne's face, he knew that if he refused, he would be blacklisted at every banker in town. Feeling as if he was going to be sick, he slowly nodded his consent, uncertain of what he had just gotten himself into.

Hawthorne's face lit up. "Well then, Mr. LeFevre, I believe we understand each other. Just a few final details, of course. One, Anne is to be told nothing of this. Over the next few months, you'll start coming over to dinner as a business associate of mine. Eventually, let's say two years from now, you'll realize that you love her. And at that point, it will become only natural for you to propose. She'll of of course accept, and the two of you can be married. Two, under no circumstances are you to be involved with another woman in any way, at any time. If you break this promise, Mr. LeFevre, things will not go well for you." He gave Henri a dangerous smile as he leaned across the desk to shake his hand.

Henri returned the shake, hoping that he succeeded as well at returning Hawthorne's insincere smile. After he left the house a few minutes later, he had to walk to the street corner and sit down for a minute. What had he just done? The answer to that question suddenly hit him with mind-numbing force. He had willingly promised himself to another, when the woman he really wanted was finally right in front of him. A wave of nausea rose up within him, and he silently willed himself not to throw up all over the street. He didn't really want to marry Anne Hawthorne. Any girl who couldn't find a husband on her own had to be bad news. And even if she was okay, he was certain that she couldn't compare to Liberty. Liberty. How would he ever be able to face her again? He slowly stood up and continued walking sullenly down the street, willing himself not to collapse until he was safe in his own room.

_Plot twist! What did you think? Please let me know! Just take a minute to click the little purple button and write me a quick review. Even if it's only one line, it'll still mean a lot to me. Thanks! And the updates will be a lot more frequent now that I'm out of school. I promise. _


	4. Two Years Later

_Hey, everybody! Sorry for not getting this posted sooner. The hard thing about this story is that it's already all written, and it's not as much fun to edit a story as it is to write it. But rest assured that I will get the job done. Um, sorry if you didn't like the last chapter, but it had to happen for this story to go where I wanted it to. Maybe this one will be better..._

August 1791: Henri strolled down the street, hands jammed firmly in his pockets, scowling. He was not a happy man. He should have been, having just gotten engaged, but he wasn't. It was a hot, steamy evening in August, and he was going to the Hillers' for supper, for the first time in almost two months. It had been too long, he reflected, much too long. Before, he had eaten with them as often as he could, because doing so meant seeing Liberty. But then the dinner invitations to eat with the Hawthornes had become more and more frequent, and he hadn't exactly been in any position to refuse them. Soon, he was booked for practically every night of the week. And instead of seeing Liberty's sparkling blue eyes when he looked across the table, he now saw only the dull brown eyes of Anne Hawthorne.

Anne Hawthorne. How he despised her. He thought back to the day two years earlier when he had gone to eat dinner at the Hawthorne home for the first time. He remembered the disappointment he had felt on first seeing her, short and dumpy with eyes set too far apart and limp brown hair. He had tried to find something there to like, really he had. But fate had stymied him. Before the evening was out, he had been filled from top to bottom with deep despair. Anne was dull, spoiled, selfish, vain, thought_ much_ too highly of herself, and seemed altogether given over to living a life of idleness and indifference. Time had only strengthened these impressions. And to make matters worse, Anne had fallen immediately in love with him.

About a week ago, Hawthorne had told him that time was up, and that he had a week and a half to propose to his daughter before things started getting ugly. Sick at heart, Henri had parted with a considerable chunk of his hard earned money, spent to buy Anne a gold ring set with a small but perfect diamond. Last night, he had dined with the Hawthornes, always a miserable affair, but made even worse by what followed. After dinner, as Mr. Hawthorne retreated to his study to smoke his pipe and Mrs. Hawthorne nursed her third glass of wine, Henri took Anne to the garden out back, sat her down, and proposed. Clinging to him and bursting into happy tears, she had accepted instantly. A party, to be held at the Hawthorne mansion, was scheduled to take place in exactly one week's time. And that was Henri's main purpose in coming to eat with the Hillers tonight. He had managed to convince the Hawthornes to allow him to invite one family to the party, and he wanted to see Liberty there, to be able to dance with her for the first and probably the last time.

Liberty. Just saying her name was heaven to him. His attraction to her had not subsided over the past two years. In fact, he had only fallen more in love with her as she grew from a pretty girl to a strikingly beautiful woman. And not only was she gorgeous, she was smart and spirited as well. He could feel the chemistry between them whenever they spoke with one another, and it killed him to know that he had promised himself to another woman just as Liberty was reaching the age when he could finally make her his. And this other woman wasn't even Liberty's equal. Not even close. And so it was with these dark and brooding thoughts that Henri knocked at the door of the Hiller home at 125 Pritchard Street and waited for someone to answer.

Liberty sat curled up in her father's easy chair, lost in another book. She knew she should be helping with dinner, but she was far too busy reading. That, and waiting for a knock at the door. Because that knock meant Henri, whom she had not seen in far too long.

Over the past few years, she had fallen in love with Henri, and she had fallen hard. He was just so handsome, so tall, so muscular. And besides that, he was witty and smart. They laughed at all the same jokes, and their opinions were the same on almost everything. But even when they thought differently, they never really argued. Instead, they had the most lively and spirited conversations the Hiller home had ever seen. Even her father admitted that it was so. They never did manage to win one another over, but they had fun.

But then the invitations to eat with the Hawthornes had started, and he came to dine with the Hillers less and less. Liberty was reduced to seeing him for a few minutes on Sunday after church, and then it was only to exchange greetings and a few trivial comments about the weather. She missed their dinner discussions, but she missed just seeing him even more, which was why she was very glad he was coming over tonight. Maybe they could have a good talk again.

There was a knock at the door, and she stood up quickly, nearly dropping her book. Recollecting herself, she smoothed her skirts, went to the door, gave the knob a sharp twist, and found herself looking up into the deep brown eyes of Henri.

"Hello," she breathed, smiling, "Would you like to come in?" They paused for a moment, just looking at one another. He looked good tonight, she thought, very dashing and sophisticated. What was it about those eyes of his? They seemed to look right into her very soul. She ushered him into the foyer, waiting for him to say something.

Henri let her take his jacket and hat, looking at her all the while. He let his eyes travel up and down her slender figure, taking in every detail. She was so beautiful, so perfect. He wanted to hold her, wanted to kiss her. But he was engaged now, and not to her. He had no idea what on earth he had been thinking when he had agreed to marry Anne. He didn't want to marry her, and he didn't want to face the thought of Liberty having to marry another, not when the two of them were so perfect for one another and he loved her so much.

She turned around, and he quickly averted his eyes from her body. They just stood there staring at each other, and each second seemed like a minute, but in a good way. Then the little blonde head of six year old Bethany Hiller popped around the corner. "It's time for dinner," she shouted, then ran giggling to the dining room.

"I suppose we should go eat," Liberty whispered.

Henri extended his arm to her. "I suppose we should," he whispered in reply.

She took the proffered arm, smiling. He smiled back, and as they walked off into the dining room, he took her hand and pressed it to his heart in a gesture of love and affection. Liberty flushed, but she plainly enjoyed it, and they entered the dining room smiling. It was the last bit of smiling either of them would do that evening.

_Yeah, I know there wasn't a whole lot of action in this chapter, but it was really more of a transition from 1789 to 1791. A lot more will happen in chapters five and six, if you can bring yourselves to wait for them. Don't you just feel horrible for Henri? He loves Liberty so much, but he has to marry Anne instead. Or does he? You'll just have to wait and see. Keep those reviews coming, and be sure to check out my new Jane Austen story, Five Darcy Daughters!_


	5. Very Bad News

_I know I said updates would be more frequent once I got out of school, but I sort of underestimated how busy I would be this summer. One of my best friends was just visiting from California, I have volunteer stuff I have to do at the historical society, and I'm trying to read Catch-22 (my summer reading assignment for AP Lit). Anyways, I guess I'm just trying to make some excuses, so I'll just cut to the chase and give you the next chapter. This one took a lot of effort to get right, so I hope you like it._

Towards the end of supper, Henri decided it was time to bring up the subject of his engagement and the party to be held next week. He paused, pushed back his plate, took a deep breath, and began. "There's...something I need to tell you all," he said hesitantly.

Instantly, twelve pairs of eyes were fixed on him. It was a little unnerving. Taking a small sip from his wine glass, he began again. "This is a little awkward, but it has to be said. I'm engaged. There. I said it. I'm engaged." He took another, longer, drink of wine.

There was a choking sound from across the table, and everyone turned to look. It was Liberty. She coughed harder, and her sister Mercy, who was sitting beside her, leaned over to clap her on the back.

"Are you alright?" asked her father.

She fluttered her hand in response, indicating that she would be fine. After another second or two, she stopped coughing, took a drink, and smiled, but Henri could see the tears in the corners of her eyes and knew it was all forced. "I'm fine," she whispered in a small voice, "I'm just not feeling well. In fact, I think I'll go lay down right now." And without another word, she stood up and fled the room, leaving everyone to stare after her and wonder what was wrong.

Henri didn't wonder, though. He knew in an instant what was the matter with her. His confession had hurt her, and there could be only one reason for that. _She loved him._ That simply had to be the reason. Why else would she be acting like this? And that knowledge was like a knife to his heart. Disgusted with himself for hurting her, he was right on the verge of jumping up and running after her when he felt a hand on his arm.

"So," said Mrs. Hiller, trying to lighten the mood, "Who is she?"

Liberty waited only until she was out of the dining room before bursting into a run, which carried her all the way upstairs and down the hall to her room. Once inside, she slammed the door after her and flopped down across her bed. Then and only then did she begin to cry in earnest. She buried her face in her pillow and sobbed and sobbed. And while she did, she began to think.

The sounds of dinner floated up to her from downstairs, and she could hear Henri's voice. "Her name's Anne Hawthorne," he was saying. Oh, that stupid Hawthorne girl! She should have known what all those dinners were for. But it was too late now. She had lost him, and she knew it. But perhaps, she realized, she hadn't lost him at all, for you cannot lose what you never had in the first place. That made her cry harder. She had been certain that there had been something between them; she had thought that all the chemistry between them surely had not been imagined. But maybe it had been; maybe she _was_ only imagining things, and he had never really cared for her at all. And it was that thought that hurt the most.

She rolled over onto her side and looked out the window at the city. The sun was setting behind the buildings in a brilliant blaze of orange and red and pink light. It was beautiful, but it was all lost on her. What was the point of such splendor when her heart was broken? She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow once more. The sounds of voices and laughter floated up to her from below, but she wanted no part in it. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was ever going to be alright again. She had lost him, and that was truly worth crying over.

"Who is she, Henri?" Mrs. Hiller asked again, seeing that Henri was plainly not listening.

"What?" he said, her voice jarring him back to earth, "Oh yes, of course."

"But who is she?" This time it was ten year old Patience Hiller who asked the question.

"Her name's Anne Hawthorne," he said morosely, draining the rest of his wine glass. Things couldn't possibly get any worse. He was engaged to a woman he didn't love or even respect, while the woman he really loved had been right in front of him all along. And she loved him, he was sure of it. Or, at least she _had_ loved him. She probably hated him now, and with good reason. He was disgusted with the whole situation, but most of all with himself. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming desire to get out of there, go home, and sleep for a very long time. But there was still the matter of that party. Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, he began. "There is one more thing we need to talk about..."

Fifteen minutes later, a positive response to his invitation secured, Henri collected his jacket and hat, said his goodbyes, and walked out into the muggy evening. He had gotten what he was after, in a way. He had come tonight to secure the presence of the Hillers, mostly Liberty, at his engagement party, and he had gotten it. But what good did that really do him? Even if Liberty would agree to dance with him, she would be his for only as long as that one dance lasted. He had lost her, and he had gained Anne instead. And that was enough to fill him with deep, dark despair.

By this time he was opening the door to his room at the boardinghouse. He walked inside, slammed the door behind him, and flopped down across the bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes. All he wanted to do was fall asleep, and not wake up for a very long time.

Late that night, after spending close to an hour brushing her hair, lost in thought, Liberty finally crawled into bed. It had been a very trying evening. After Henri left, her sister had come upstairs to sit with her and tell her about Henri's engagement party. She didn't really want to go to any party, especially not this one. But, as Mercy gently explained, she didn't have a choice. The invitation had already been accepted on her behalf.

She frowned, looking over at her sister, who was asleep in the next bed. Mercy was only thirteen, but sometimes it seemed as if she was the older sister, for she had always been the more level headed of the two. "What would you do if you were me, Mercy?" Liberty whispered, but she was speaking only to the shadows cast on the wall, for her sister was sound asleep.

"Good answer," Liberty murmured. She blew out the candle on her bedside table, rolled over, and tried to fall asleep. But instead, she found herself staring out at the dark and vacant city. Henri was out there somewhere, and he had her heart with him. A few hot tears dripped onto her pillow, but she made no effort to wipe them away. How could she have been so completely and utterly wrong about what had been going on between herself and Henri? The tears flowed faster as she turned the question over and over in her mind. There would be no sleep tonight.

_Well, there you go. I promised a little more action, and there it is. Don't you just feel so terrible for both of them? Chapter six will be even more exciting. You might call it the high point of the story, in that respect. It might take a little while for me to get it posted though, as it will require a major editing job. So stay tuned and keep the reviews coming!_


	6. What Happened At The Party

_Hey, everybody! I know you've had to wait a little bit for this, but I think the fact that this is sort of a longish chapter (compared to others in this story) will make up for that. I'll just go on the record now as saying that I **loved** writing this chapter. A LOT. And, I dare say, I think that you will love reading it just as much. Or, at least, I hope you will... _

It was exactly a week later, and the evening of Henri's engagement party had arrived. Liberty was not a happy young woman. She had begged and pleaded with her mother to be allowed not to go, and she had even tried to fake an illness, but to no avail. It was a quarter past five, and the party started at six, so they were leaving in another half an hour, maybe a little less. That gave her another thirty precious minutes of freedom before she had to go and watch Henri with another woman. It was not a pleasing thought.

She was putting the finishing touches to her outfit for the evening, for her pride would not permit her to look anything less than perfect. She had put on her newest dress, just finished that spring, and made in the very newest style. It was made of pink and cream striped silk with the skirt draped back in front to reveal a cream silk underskirt. The neckline was low and edged in pleated chiffon ruffles. More of the same ruffles edged the elbow length sleeves and the hem of the skirt, and her tighly corseted waist was tied with a white ribbon sash. She finished the outfit with pink satin dancing slippers, and pulled her hair up in a loose, airy mass, weaving a pink ribbon through it and leaving little blonde curls to frame her face.

"You look lovely," said Mercy, who was also dressing. The two sisters, plus their parents, were the only Hillers attending tonight's event. The rest were staying home under the watchful eye of their elderly next door neighbor, Mrs. Matson. Mercy was dressed in pale green poplin, a color that complimented her red hair and green eyes, so like their mother's.

Liberty frowned into the mirror, her expression making it clear that she didn't agree. "Do you really think so?" she asked.

Her sister nodded. "You look perfect."

"I guess that will have to do then," said Liberty, still a little unsatisfied. But there was no more time; their father was calling from the foot of the stairs. Draping velvet wraps around their shoulders, they walked downstairs to find their father, dressed in his finest waistcoat, waiting to escort them outside. The cart was tied up at the hitching post, and their mother already sat up front, dressed in pale blue silk and holding the reins steady. But she gladly surrendered them to her husband, who climbed up into the driver's seat after helping his daughters up. With a click of the tongue and a gentle slap of the reins, they were off.

Liberty sat in the back seat, clutching her sister's hand so hard that Mercy winced a little. Of all the people in the world, only her sister knew her secret. She had told her the morning after that fateful dinner. So only Mercy knew the pain that her sister was feeling; only Mercy was able to bear a little of it as the cart rumbled through the breezy, balmy August evening. Just imagine what they both would have felt, had they known what this evening had in store.

After a short drive through the streets of Philadelphia, the Hillers pulled up outside the Hawthorne mansion. The house was brightly lit from within, and sounds of music and laughter floated out the open windows. They were helped out of the cart by a uniformed butler, who then led them through the front door, where another servant was waiting to take their wraps, and across the hall to the ballroom. And there they were unceremoniously abandoned, obviously not warranting a formal introduction like the party's wealthier guests.

The four Hillers stepped into the room and because no one at all was paying attention to them, Liberty found herself free to look around. The ballroom was massive, with a high ceiling, sparkling crystal chandeliers, and heavy velvet draperies on the floor to ceiling windows. A five piece orchestra, surrounded by potted palms, was at one end of the room, tuning up for the dancing that was about to begin. Large crowds of people, all very wealthy looking and dressed in exquisite clothing that had obviously cost a fortune, milled about, asking one another for dances. She looked around, but there was no sign of Henri.

A young man came up to her, smiling and holding out his hand. "Miss," he said, in a voice simply gushing with charm, "May I have the honor of dancing the first number with you?" Liberty sighed. She really didn't feel like dancing at all tonight. Looking back at the young man, whose smile was everything that was captivating and insincere, she shook her head, whispered no, and walked away, going over to stand against the wall as the first dance began.

That was when she saw him. Henri. He was dressed in a fine looking blue coat, and he looked devastatingly tall and handsome. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, then sank when she saw that there was a young woman with him. This had to be Anne Hawthorne, and Liberty immediately felt pangs of jealousy upon seeing her. Anne was dressed tonight in red satin, and she somehow managed to look decent, though of course she couldn't come up to Liberty. The stirring strains of a waltz began to play, and as Liberty watched Henri and Anne, she had to fight back tears. Anne looked so happy, and Henri so dashing. She looked around, saw an empty velvet settee farther down the wall, sighed, and went and sat down. This, she thought bitterly, was what her life was going to be like from now on. She saw her sister, in the arms of a tall, well dressed young man, go waltzing past. Let Mercy take her place and be happy now. What did she have to lose anymore? Everything was lost already.

Ten dances later, the night was winding down. There were only two dances left, and then the party would be over. Henri had been dancing exclusively with Anne all evening. She was very clingy, and wouldn't even let him take a break from ushering her around the dance floor. He had wanted the break to see if he could find Liberty, but he had to content himself with sneaking looks around the ballroom as he and Anne went dancing past. He hadn't seen her all evening, and as the eleventh dance began, he found himself beginning to give up hope that she was there at all.

But then he saw her, sitting with crossed arms on a red velvet settee against the wall, and looking profoundly unhappy. But still, there was something so very beautiful about her. Her gown fit like a dream, and her hair formed a golden cloud about her angelic face. He began to walk over towards her, but Anne's grip on his arm tightened as she pulled him closer. "Where are you going?" she asked, "The dance is starting." And it was. The opening bars of another number began to play, and Henri was forced to lead his partner back onto the dance floor. But he made his own private resolution to ask Liberty for the twelfth and last dance of the night.

The eleventh dance ended, and there was a short break as men sought out their partners for the twelfth. Ignoring Anne's protests, Henri told her he was sitting this one out, and went off to find Liberty. He found her still sitting on the settee, still looking unhappy,and bored too. Gathering up his courage, he adjusted the lapels of his coat, walked up to her and said, "Good evening, Liberty. May I have this dance?"

Startled at the sound of someone's voice, Liberty looked up. Henri was standing before her, a big smile on his face. He extended his hand to her. "May I have this dance?" he asked again.

"M-me?" stuttered Liberty. _Great_, she thought to herself, _make him think that you're a complete idiot_.

He smiled at her again, showing those beautiful white teeth of his. "Yes, of course you. Now will you? Please?" There was a sort of boyish hope in his face that Liberty found irresistible.

She smiled back at him, feeling better now than she had in days. "I'm not much of a dancer," she said shyly, "But if you really want me to, I will."

He pulled her so close that her breath caught in her throat. The music was starting. But instead of launching into a waltz, which was the customary closing dance at such occasions, the violinist launched into a fast moving schottische. Liberty looked up at Henri questioningly, and saw that he was smirking. It was very attractive. "Did you have something to do with this?" she asked.

He laughed. "What do you think?" he asked teasingly, "Now come on, let's dance." And just like that, he pulled her onto the dance floor, and they joined the other couples circling the ballroom.

Liberty was in heaven. Henri was by far the best man she had ever danced with. Skillful and rhythmic, he kept them moving in perfect time. She laughed with sheer delight. "How did you know that this was my favorite dance?" she asked.

"I just had a feeling." He pulled her even closer. "Did you know that you're a wonderful dancer?" he whispered in her ear.

Liberty felt shivers run up and down her spine at the feel of his breath on her skin. She savored the feel of his strong arms around her, holding her close like he would never let her go. This was wonderful; she could dance with him forever. Everything else just seemed to melt away until only they were left, locked in their own private universe. But she could tell that the song was coming to an end. Good things couldn't last forever, she supposed.

Henri could also tell that the music was almost done, but he was determined not to let her go so easily. She was perfection, absolute perfection. Despite her modest protests, her dancing was flawless, and he was reveling in the feel of her thin, supple body beneath his fingertips. The last notes of the song rang out, and all the couples ceased their whirling and stood still, clapping for the musicians. Liberty looked up at him, face flushed becomingly, eyes shining, perfect pink lips parted just a little. The ribbon in her hair had come loose and fallen out, they had danced so rapidly, and her face was framed by shimmering waves of gold. And in that instant, he knew what he had to do. Drawing her as close to him as he could, he put his lips to hers, kissing her, finally doing what he had dreamed of for the past two years.

Liberty was shocked. What was he doing? Did he really love her after all? Had he been drinking? This was all too sudden. But instinctively, she kissed him back, molding her body to his. He was a fantastic kisser, that was for sure. Blissfully unaware that the other party guests were now watching them, they kept at it. The moment was magic, absolute magic, and from the second their lips touched, they knew that it was meant to be. But it couldn't last forever, and eventually they broke the kiss and came up gasping for air.

That was when Liberty stole a glance around, and saw that everyone was staring at them, hateful looks upon their faces. What was she doing here? She was kissing another woman's fiance, that was what. No wonder everyone was staring. Suddenly, the magnitude of what she had done hit her, as well as the futility of it. Whether Henri loved her or not, he was still engaged to another, and nothing could change that. Overwhelmed with it all, she burst into tears. "Liberty," Henri whispered, "What's wrong?"

But she couldn't answer him; she couldn't even try. Shaking her head furiously, she pulled free of his embrace, quite easily too, for he was too startled to hold her any longer. "Liberty, what on earth..." he muttered tersely. The tears began to flow faster, and she knew that she had to get out of there. Turning quickly, she bolted from the room, taking Henri's heart with her. "Liberty!" he yelled, but it was too late. She was gone.

A flash of pink by his shoe caught his eye, and he bent down to see what it was. Straightening, he found that he held Liberty's hair ribbon in his hand. He rubbed it between his fingers thoughtfully as he stared at the ballroom door. Suddenly conscious of a presence by his elbow, he looked over to see Anne standing beside him. He turned to look at her, and in that very instant, she reached up and slapped him across the face. "How dare you?" she yelled. Henri spluttered and stuttered out an answer, but it wasn't very satisfactory, and Anne too ran from the room. The party was over, and it was time for everyone to go home.

Liberty ran from the ballroom, down the long main hall, and out the front door, not even pausing to take her wrap from the butler. All of a sudden, the atmosphere in that house had become stifling, and she needed to get out. She bolted down the steps, paused just for a second to get her bearings, then started off in the direction of her home.

Once she reached the end of the block, she quit running, turned around to see that no one was following her, and set off again at a brisk walk instead, arms folded across her chest. The night had turned muggy, with just the faintest hint of a breeze coming off the water to ruffle through her hair. She was still crying hard, seemingly incapable of stopping. Everything was so completely and utterly hopeless. She was certain now that Henri had feelings for her. He just had to. Why else would he kiss her like that? But even if that was the truth, it didn't get them anywhere. He was still engaged to Anne, and the two of them were going to be married. Married. And she could do nothing to change that. And if Henri married someone else, what would she do? She loved him, she loved him with all her heart. But he was hers no longer; he never really had been. That kiss had been special. And she knew it had been destiny; she could just feel it. But even so, everything was still so futile. Maybe he had just been using her, just trying to get in one last kick before he became a married man. She didn't want to believe it of him, but after tonight, she felt that anything was possible.

By this time, she was outside the Hiller house. The windows were dark, and she prayed that the door would not be locked. It wasn't, and she pushed it open as quietly as she could. Mrs. Matson was sitting in the parlor, dozing softly. Liberty gently shook her awake and told her she could go on home. After the woman left, she took a candle from the hall table, lit it, and took it upstairs with her. As she walked down the second floor hall, she looked in on her siblings. They were all sleeping peacefully. _Oh_, she thought,_ to be a kid again_. _Things were so much simpler then_. Reaching her room at the end of the hall, she set about getting ready for bed, closing the door so her brothers and sisters wouldn't hear her sobs. She pulled off her dancing slippers and flung them back in the wardrobe. She did take care to hang up her beautiful party dress though, even smoothing out the wrinkles in the skirt. She pulled on her thin cotton nightgown, then sat down at her dressing table to brush her hair. It was then that she realized for the first time that her hair ribbon was gone. She had been so upset that she hadn't even noticed. Oh well, it was just a ribbon.

She could hear the rattling of wheels and the clopping of horses' hooves on the cobblestone street outside. Pulling back the curtain, she looked out the window and saw that it was her family. If there was anyone she didn't want to talk to right now, it would be them. Hoping and praying that they wouldn't come and try to comfort her, or worse, scold her, she blew out the candle and dove into bed, rolling over onto her side and pulling the quilt up to her chin. She was still crying a little when Mercy came into the room. Still in her party clothes, she came over and sat on the edge of her sister's bed. Without even really thinking about it, Liberty sat up and let her sister hug her, glad for her reassuring presence in spite of herself. Resting her head on Mercy's shoulder, she cried and cried. "Oh Libs," whispered her sister, "I'm so sorry." And then they just sat there, with Liberty crying and Mercy smoothing her hair.

In the meantime, back at the mansion, the party broke up, with all the guests chattering excitedly about what had happened as they moved off to collect their wraps, get in their carriages, and go home. Henri looked around, and saw the Hillers moving for the door, pained looks on their faces. He ran over to them. "Please," he begged, "Please let me explain."

Mr. Hiller fixed him with a frosty stare. "I don't think you can," he said in a tense, tired sounding voice.

"James," said his wife, "maybe you should-"

Her husband cut her off. "Sarah," he said, "I think what we all need right now is to go home. I honestly don't feel like dealing with this."

"But Papa," his daughter protested, "If he loves Liberty-"

She too was cut off. "Mercy, I said we weren't going to discuss this right now. Now let's go get our wraps and leave. Right now, _your _sister is running around the streets of Philadelphia alone, in the dark." He jabbed a finger in Henri's direction. "And it's all his fault." Taking his wife by one arm and his daughter by the other, he led them towards the door. The women paused at the butler to take their velvet wraps, with Mercy taking Liberty's in her arms. They all looked so forlorn, as if Liberty had died or something. Then they were gone, and the door shut behind them.

He looked around again. Mr. Hawthorne, he knew, was not there. Rather, he was in London on business, and he wouldn't be back for several months. And Mrs. Hawthorne was sitting in the corner, an empty decanter of wine on the table beside her, too drunk to notice anything that was going on around her. So he was safe there. Not that that was any comfort. An entire room of people had seen what had happened. But to be truthful, he had enjoyed that kiss. She was a superb kisser, and he was even more certain now that they were meant to be together. But he was so incredibly sorry that it had to be like this, that he had caused her so much pain, and that this had to have happened now, when it was too late.

He slipped out the front door, the last to leave. It was a long walk back to the boardinghouse, but that was okay. It gave him time to think. Was it really too late? Did he really have to go through with his marriage to Anne? Because now he was more sure than ever that it wasn't what he wanted, that Liberty was the one instead. But was there a way out of his engagement? That was the question, and by the time he opened the door to his room, he had his answer. There _was_ a way out, and now he knew what he had to do tomorrow.

_Well, there you go. It finally happened. After all this time, we finally get to see some action between the two of them. I told you that you were going to like it. So, did you? This was my favorite chapter to write _so far_, and I'd love to know what you thought of it. In the next chapter, we'll get to see how Henri puts his plan into action. Will he get the girl? Stay tuned for updates!_


	7. Henri Tries To Explain

_I'm so, so, so sorry for not updating in almost a month. I meant to, believe me, but my life just got crazier and crazier. First my computer sort of died, and I was panicking because I thought all my stories and stuff would be gone. Well, we got the computer back (yay!), but then I went on vacation. And now I've started school again, just a couple of college classes now, but high school begins on Tuesday. So that's my (poor) excuse. At any rate, here's chapter seven. Enjoy._

The next morning found Henri standing on the front steps of the Hawthorne home, knocking at the door. After a short wait, Sophie answered, and Henri was struck with a painful flashback to that fateful day two years ago, when he had first accepted Hawthorne's loan. Well, _that_ had been the worst day of his life, but now he finally had a chance to set things right.

Sophie stared at him warily. "What do you want, Mr. LeFevre?"

He swallowed, surprised at just how nervous he was. "I'm here to see Anne."

"Ah, the young mistress. I thought as much. Well, come in. She's in the upstairs parlor." Henri followed her inside, through the entrance hall, up the grand staircase, and down a lushly carpeted hall to a partially open door at the end of it. Sophie reached up a bony hand and rapped at the door.

"Who is it?" asked a harsh voice from within.

"It's Sophie, miss. Mr. LeFevre's with me, and he wants to talk with you."

There was a sigh. "Alright, send him in."

Sophie pushed the door open, ushered Henri in, and left as fast as she could. Once inside, Henri took a quick look around. The room was octagon shaped, with a big bay window that looked out on the garden at the back of the house. The window was covered with sheer pink curtains, presumably to match the pink wallpaper. The polished wood floor was covered with fluffy white rugs with designs of pink roses on them. The room was furnished with a settee and two chairs, both upholstered in shiny pink moire. There was a low mahogany table in front of the settee, on which sat a porcelain tea set painted with pink roses. The walls were liberally covered with watercolor paintings of flowers. All in all, it didn't look like a place often frequented by anyone male.

Anne was sitting on the settee, propped up among large needlepoint pillows. She was wearing a pink satin dressing gown and sipping a cup of tea. "So good to see you, Henri. Please do sit down," she said in a voice that was dangerously calm.

Henri slowly sat down in one of the chairs, his heart pounding. She extended a cup of tea to him, but he shook his head. "We need to have a talk," he said.

"Oh," she said, gently clapping her hands, "you've come here to apologize for what happened last night. Oh goody."

He bit his lip. This was not a good sign. "Not exactly..."

She cocked her head to one side, looking slightly confused. "What then?" she asked.

It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, he began. "Well, it's like this. I'm not in love with you. I never have been. Maybe you've figured that out after what happened yesterday, but even so, I feel like I ought to tell you. I only agreed to marry you because your father would forgive my loan if I did, and well, I was in a pretty dire financial situation. But then I fell in love, and I realized it was impossible for me to keep up the charade any longer. I'm really sorry, but there's, there's someone else." He swallowed hard, waiting to see how she reacted.

The teacup slid from her fingers and shattered on the wood floor, spraying tea all over the rug. "What do you mean there's someone else? Is it that girl from last night? What a tramp!" She was furious.

Henri felt his temper begin to rise at hearing Liberty called a tramp. "How dare you?" he exclaimed, "You don't know the first thing about her! I come here and try to be nice to you, and this is what I get? Well I'm done! Give me back my ring so I can get out of here!"

Anne stood up quickly, scattering her stack of pillows. "I would like nothing better!" She pulled Henri's diamond from a pudgy finger and threw it at him as hard as she could. "Take it!" she shrieked, "Take it and good riddance! I'm done with you!" She sank back onto the settee, folded her arms across her chest, and fumed.

Henri winced as the ring hit his outstretched palm. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he stuck it in his pocket, but she wouldn't listen. Shrugging his shoulders, he left the room, shut the door behind him, and retraced his steps out of the house. It was the last time he ever saw Anne Hawthorne.

He paused for a moment on the sidewalk outside. Turning his eyes skyward, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks. It was over. There would be no more Anne to get in the way, to ruin everything. The way was clear, and there was just one thing left to do. With a big smile on his face, he turned his steps toward Pritchard Street.

As he waited for someone to answer his knock, he hoped fervently that it would be Liberty, and not her mother or one of her sisters. But much to his dismay, when the door opened, he found himself looking into the startled face of Mrs. Hiller. "Henri," she said, her voice a little flustered, "What brings you here?"

"I need to talk to Liberty."

Mrs. Hiller bit her lip and looked uncomfortable. "I'm afraid you can't."

"I can't?"

"I'm afraid she doesn't want to see you today. In fact, she doesn't want to see anyone today, really."

"But you don't understand," he said, practically begging, "I have to see her. I need to see her. Everything's okay now, and she needs to know that. Please, please, please just let me talk to her."

"Henri, I know how much you care about her. So please, just give her some space. Last night was very hard on her; it was hard on everybody. Just let everything settle for a while." She was holding Benjamin, her year and a half old son, in her arms, and he began to cry.

Henri didn't know what to do. "Are you sure?" he asked plaintively, "Because I have to see her. I just have to."

Mrs. Hiller rocked the baby back and forth. "Don't make this any harder than it needs to be, Henri. You can't see her, because she doesn't _want_ to see you right now. Don't do this to her, don't hurt her."

"But I," he swallowed hard, "You don't understand. She means the world to me."

"I know. And that's exactly why you should give her some space right now. Have a nice day, Henri." And without another word, she turned and went inside, closing the door quickly behind her. He could still hear the baby wailing away. What now? He turned his gaze to the second floor, looking at the row of curtained windows. Was she up there right now? Which window was hers?

Suddenly, he saw a slender white hand at the window on the end. The hand parted the curtain, and he saw a thin, pale, tearstained face look out. Liberty. She looked as if she hadn't slept, and he was filled with overwhelming feelings of guilt, for he knew that it was all his fault. She looked down, and their eyes locked. "Liberty!" he yelled, "Please come down!" She must have heard him. But she only shook her head and let the curtain fall back into place.

So that was it. She really wasn't going to talk to him. She really wasn't going to let him explain. He turned away, dejected. There was nothing more he could think to do at the moment. But it wasn't over, it couldn't be. Somehow, he was going to find a way to make her see. He just wasn't going to let what happened last night be their last kiss. That thought was uppermost in his mind as he turned away.

"You know, Libs, you really should have talked to him," said her sister.

Liberty turned from the window. "Mercy..." she said plaintively.

Mercy held up her hands defensively. "Don't get mad. All I'm saying is that you should have given him a chance."

"But you don't understand! He's engaged to someone else. What he did to me last night..." She broke off and sank to the bed, holding her head in her hands.

"Libs, he_ loves_ you. I know he does."

"Even if he does, where does that get us? He's _engaged_, Mercy. Don't you get that? He's engaged, and not to me. So what's the use? Everything's ruined already."

"Just give him a chance," Mercy pleaded, "Just let him say what he has to say. Who knows? He may surprise you."

Liberty flopped over and buried her head in her pillow. "Oh, please just go away and leave me alone. If you have any compassion at all, please just leave me."

"Alright, alright. I tried to help you, Liberty. So if this doesn't work out for you, it's not my fault." She left, closing the door behind her as she went.

Liberty started to cry again. She knew her sister was right, but yet she still didn't have the courage to face Henri. The events of last night were still too fresh in her mind. Just the memory of Henri's arms around her, the feel of his lips on hers. It was all too much. Was she wrong for wanting to spend the rest of her life with him? She couldn't believe that she was. But what was the use of wishing for something that could never happen? It was Anne Hawthorne who was going to become Mrs. LeFerve, not her. And that was why she couldn't talk to Henri. It was just too painful. Would things ever be right again? Right now, she just didn't know.

_Will things ever be right again? You can probably guess, but you're going to have to keep reading to find out for sure. I make no promises about the speed of this next update, especially since school has started again, but I'll try to be speedy. I think I would be speedier, though, if I got more reviews. Hint, hint..._


	8. Of Ribbons And Rings

_A thousand apologies to you, my poor dear readers. I know it's been a while. This chapter would have been up sooner if my life wasn't so incredibly crazy right now. I'm currently working on my college application (early action to Kalamazoo College); I just finished a five page paper about Pride & Prejudice; I have pages and pages of stuff to read for debate; the calculus homework just never seems to stop. You know how it is. But I finally just told myself I had to sit down and update, so here it is. I think you're really going to like this one._

November 1791: It had been nearly three months since the Hawthornes' party, and Henri and Liberty hadn't spoken to each other since. At first, he had tried coming to see the Hillers, begging every time to be allowed to speak with Liberty, but every time, she refused him. Eventually, he had just stopped trying. He ate his meals at the boardinghouse now, since of course there were no more invitations to eat with the Hillers or the Hawthornes. But he was still just as much in love with Liberty as ever, and he hadn't given up hope that maybe one day he could make her see that.

And Liberty was just as attached to Henri as she had ever been. But she still wasn't sure that she was ready to see him again. So far as she knew, he was still engaged. And as much as she loved him, she had a hard time forgiving him for kissing her. To her mind, their kiss had been for nothing, since there seemed to be no possibility but that he would marry Anne. But with all her heart, she wished that it didn't have to be like that. Late at night, as she lay in bed, she looked out her window at the stars and prayed that things would somehow change, that somehow everything would work out. Little did she know that soon all her prayers would be answered.

It was the morning of November 10th, and today Henri was giving it one last try. If she refused him this time, he told himself, that would be it. He would give up on her forever, as much as it pained him. But he didn't want it to come to that, which is why he was knocking at the door of 125 Pritchard Street. He wished with all his heart that Liberty would answer.

She didn't. Instead, he got Mercy. But at least she smiled when she saw him. "Can I please talk to your sister?" he asked, "Please. I'll do anything, just please let me see her."

Mercy grinned at him. "I thought you'd given up," she said in a tone of awe and wonder, "But I'm so glad you didn't. Stay right here and I'll go get her." She turned and hurried off down the hall, leaving the front door open. Henri wondered if he should step inside, then thought better of it. This might be the sort of situation where it would be best not to have her family watching. He leaned against the door frame and waited, trying to calm his pounding heart.

Mercy burst into the kitchen, where her sister was kneading bread dough. "Liberty, he's here!" she whispered excitedly, "and he wants to talk to you! And I mean, he really wants to talk to you!"

Liberty's eyes grew wide. "Where is he?" she asked, "You didn't tell him I was coming, did you?"

"No, not exactly..."

"Well, then what _did_ you say?"

"I said that I was coming to get you. You are going to see him, aren't you?"

"I don't know, Mercy. I just don't know if I can."

"Libs, you _have_ to. I told you, he loves you. And you still love him, I can tell. So please don't waste this chance. What if he never comes back again?"

Liberty pondered that for a moment. "Alright," she said finally, "I'll do it. But Mercy, I've been baking, and I look like a fright."

"No, you don't. Just take off your apron, wipe the flour off your hands, and smooth your hair, and you'll be fine."

She did. "Better?" she asked.

Mercy nodded. "Much. You look amazing. Now go talk to him."

Liberty took a deep breath and walked through the kitchen door. Upon turning the corner into the entranceway, she caught her first glimpse of him. He was leaning against the frame of the front door, looking devastatingly attractive. She suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to be near him. Quickening her step, she reached him, smiled slightly, and said, "Hello, Henri."

Henri felt himself grow lighter inside at the sound of her voice. It really had been too long. "Hello, Liberty," he said warmly, "Shall we go outside?"

She nodded. "I think we should."

They walked out into the gray November morning, laughing self-consciously as their bodies brushed against one another. Henri reached back and shut the door behind them. It was rather chilly, with a breeze off the water, and Liberty shivered in her thin calico dress. Henri wanted to hold her, but he restrained himself. It was still too soon; things were still too awkward. He did, however, move closer to her. "We need to talk," he said.

"I agree," she said, "We do."

"There are a lot of things I need to explain to you."

"There are." _My,_ _this is going well_, she thought to herself.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What?" This was unexpected.

"I'm so sorry for what happened. At the party, before the party, after the party. All of it. I'm sorry."

She smiled in spite of herself. It felt so good to hear him say that. "I've already forgiven you," she replied, "It took some time, but I did."

"I never loved Anne."

"Then why on earth were you engaged to her? Why ask a woman to marry you if you don't love her?"

"Because I needed money for my store. And the only way I could get a loan from her father, from anyone really, was to marry her. I'm really ashamed of myself for acting that way, but I was desperate."

"So let me get this straight," she said incredulously, "You agreed to marry the girl because of a loan? That's really quite low. I wouldn't have thought it possible of you."

"Well, let me tell you, I didn't think it possible of me either. There was one reason in particular that I felt so cheap, one reason in particular that I knew I couldn't keep up the charade any longer."

"And, pray tell, what was that?"

He moved another step closer and took her hands in his. "Because," he said softly, "I was already in love with you."

She gasped. "You were?"

"I was." And then he kissed her. It was a beautiful kiss, better even than the one they had shared at the ball. Liberty moved towards him and let him wrap his arms around her. He held her close, like she was the only person in the world that mattered. Because she was. And she let him kiss her, safe in the circle of his embrace, equally certain that there was no one else in the world of any importance aside from him.

Eventually, Henri pulled away. But it was only to reach in his pocket and pull out a small velvet box. "I was hoping things would go like this," he said, laughing a little. He bent down on one knee and opened the box. "Liberty Anne Hiller," he said in a soft voice, "would you marry me?"

Liberty burst into tears for what seemed the billionth time in the past few months, but this time, they were tears of joy. "Yes," she choked out, "Yes! Of course! Of course I'll marry you!"

He took her hand in his, and when he released it, she looked down to see a soft sparkle on her ring finger. It was a gold ring, set with a perfect, glittering diamond. "It's not the same ring," he whispered, "I took that one back to the jeweler and bought you one of your own." Then he kissed her again.

This time, it was Liberty who pulled away. Something on the ground had caught her eye. She bent down to pick it up, and when she straightened, she was holding a pink hair ribbon in her hand. "My ribbon," she breathed.

Henri shuffled his feet nervously. "It must have fallen out of my pocket when I took out the ring box."

She laughed. "Do you mean to tell me that you've been carrying my ribbon around in your pocket for the past three months?"

"It was just a little something to remember you by..." He seemed slightly sheepish, which Liberty found very attractive.

"Henri LeFevre, that is the most beautiful, romantic, wonderful thing I've ever heard of!"

"It is? Oh, it is!" He pulled her into his arms again. "Well then, how do you like this?" And he kissed her once more, this time lifting her off the ground and swinging her around in a circle.

"Oh, I like that very much," she murmured, "And I think I'll let you hold on to that ribbon for awhile." She traced a finger teasingly along the side of his neck. "At least, until our wedding day."

"I love you," he whispered in her ear.

"I love you too," she whispered back. And then she kissed him.

_Awww, isn't it romantic? I love these two-they're just so cute. Before I go, I just want to thank you for all the great reviews, especially in response to my plea in chapter seven. You guys are so nice, and such an inspiration to keep writing. So don't stop! I love hearing what you think! Hugs and kisses for you all!_


	9. Setting A Date

_Wow. It really has been a while, hasn't it? You have no idea how bad I feel about that. I don't want you to think that the last chapter was the end of the story. They aren't married yet, you know. So here's chapter nine. Sit back and prepare for a little fluffiness. But it's good fluffiness, I promise._

About ten or so minutes later, Liberty and Henri had recollected themselves enough to realize that it had started to rain. Henri took off his jacket and held it above their heads. "We should go inside," he said.

Liberty laughed a little, moving closer to him to keep from getting wet. "Yeah," she said, "I guess we should."

Henri opened the door and ushered her inside. Once they were out of the rain and standing in the front hall, he turned to look at her. Her face was pink from the cold, framed by her damp, wavy golden hair. He just couldn't believe that she was finally his. Coming closer, he took her upturned face between his hands and wiped away a drop of water that was sliding down her cheek. Then he kissed her again. She moved into his arms, and they were in real danger of losing themselves in each other for the second time, when he forced himself back to earth. "We should go find your mother," he whispered. She nodded, and they went off to look for her, hand in hand.

They found her in the dining room, polishing silver. Hearing them, she turned, saw their clasped hands, and dropped the fork she was polishing. It made a small clinging sound on the wooden floor. "Liberty," she breathed, "what's going on?"

"Sit down, Mama." Mrs. Hiller sat, wordlessly. Liberty and Henri sat down across from her. "Mama," she continued, "I have something to tell you: Henri and I are engaged."

"So that's where you've been all morning! I should have known when Mercy said someone had come to call on you. I thought and I thought, but I had no idea who it could be. At least this explains why that girl has been acting _so_ peculiar."

"Are you angry, Mama?," asked Liberty anxiously, "Please don't be angry."

"Liberty, darling, I could never be angry about something so wonderful as this. I always knew the two of you were meant for each other. Ever since you were children, I just had this feeling that it would be wonderful if the two of you were to fall in love. That's why I was so surprised to hear of Henri's engagement to Anne. But when I saw you together at the party, I knew it really was love after all. And love always wins. Take it from me; I know."

Henri thought back to a time nearly sixteen years ago, when he had been not quite ten. He remembered James and Sarah's wedding. He remembered how in love they had been, how in love they still were. Sarah was right: she did know something about love. Who could have predicted that their first child, the tiny baby he had first seen when she was two hours old, would grow up to be the beautiful woman sitting beside him? Certainly not he.

The sounds of women's voices brought him back to reality. Liberty and her mother were arguing about something. "But I don't want a big church wedding!" Liberty was saying. _The wedding_. He should have known. He listened closer.

"But I want to give you the wedding I never had," Sarah replied plaintively. Having seen her wedding, he could understand where she was coming from. But it was Liberty's turn now, she was the bride, and she deserved whatever wedding she wanted. Besides, he agreed with her: he didn't want a big church wedding either.

The argument grew more heated, and he realized that he needed to step in. "She's right, Sarah," he said, "And I don't want a fancy wedding either." Liberty looked up at him with shining eyes. "In fact, I think the sooner, the better. How about a wedding here, in the parlor, a week from now?"

Liberty could have kissed him right there, if it hadn't been for her mother. He had just read her mind. She didn't want to wait and have a big ceremony; she just wanted to marry him and start their life together. After everything they had been through, she felt it would be no less than they deserved. She reached over and squeezed his hand beneath the table. He squeezed back.

"But that's exactly what I had when I was married," protested Mrs. Hiller.

"And look how well it worked for you and Papa, Mama," argued her daughter, "I agree with Henri completely. A week is fine with me. I just want a nice, simple wedding, with family. Please, please just let us have the wedding we want. It would make me so happy."

Mrs. Hiller pursed her lips. "I don't know..." she said hesitantly, "But nothing gets planned until your father comes home. We won't make any decisions until he and Henri have a little talk and he gives his consent."

Liberty sighed. The last thing she wanted was a long conversation between her father and her fiance, especially after what had happened at the ball several months ago. Mr. Hiller had been angry about that for weeks. She hoped everything would go well, and looking over at Henri out of the corner of her eye, she knew that he was thinking the same thing.

Mrs. Hiller invited Henri to stay for dinner, and he and Liberty spent the rest of the day sitting together in the parlor, talking and laughing, and kissing. Around five o clock that evening, Mr. Hiller could be heard at the front door, taking off his coat and hat and saying that it was freezing outside. "Here it comes," Liberty whispered to Henri, "Mama's going to tell him everything, and then he's going to want to talk to you."

Henri squeezed her hand and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. "Don't worry," he whispered soothingly, "I can handle it. You and I are going to have the perfect wedding, and it's going to take place a week from now. I promise."

She looked at him dubiously. "I don't know, Henri. I want to believe you, but knowing my father, I find it hard to believe that he's going to be very happy about this."

A shadow fell across the parlor doorway. "Henri," said Mr. Hiller, "It's so nice to see you again. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

Henri coughed nervously, not quite sure what he was getting at. "It is good to be back, James."

"I'm sure it is. And now," he said, looking at his daughter's diamond ring, "I think it's high time the two of us had a little talk. The study will do nicely, I think."

Liberty looked at Henri with big wide eyes. He squeezed her hand once more, rose, and followed Mr. Hiller out of the room and down the hall. Once they were in the study, Mr. Hiller closed the door and motioned for Henri to sit down in a chair upholstered in slick brown leather. Wordlessly, Henri sat. This situation was giving him horrible flashbacks to his meeting with Mr. Hawthorne. He gripped the chair arms tight, hoping that all of this would somehow work out.

Liberty's father cleared his throat. "Sarah told me," he said, "She told me everything. Or at least, she told me everything that she knew. But I have this feeling that there was always more going on between you and Liberty. So what do you have to say for yourself?"

"First, I just have to say that I love your daughter. I do. More than life itself, even. And I do have to say that I believe she feels the same way about me."

"Oh, I have no doubt that she's been in love with you this entire time. Looking back at things, I have no doubt."

Henri flushed. "Be that as it may, things didn't really start between us until the engagement party. Honestly."

"I believe you. But if you loved Liberty, why did you get engaged to Anne?"

Henri told him the story of the loan. "But when I saw her at the party, I knew I couldn't go on without her. I asked her to dance, and well, things just sort of went on from there. You saw everything, so I'm not going to go into it again. I am sorry that it made you angry, though."

"I was angry at the time, I will admit. But I'm not now."

Henri breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good."

"And so now you want to marry her."

"And she wants to marry me. We can't forget that."

"What is it that you want me to do?" Mr. Hiller asked.

"She and I want a small family wedding, a week from now. All we need is your consent and blessing for it."

"Henri, she's so young. What's the hurry?"

"But James, how old were you and Sarah when you were married? I was there, so don't think you can lie to me."

"Point taken. This whole thing just seems so surreal to me. When Sarah and I were married, we never dreamed that our firstborn child..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"I agree," said Henri, "It does seem quite surreal that I would be marrying your oldest child. I mean, I saw her when she was just two hours old, remember? But you have to understand that I _love_ her. I love her so much."

James thought for a moment. Finally, he leaned forward across the table and extended his hand. "I, of all people, ought to know something about falling in love when you least expect it. And so I have to say that it would be an honor to welcome you into the family."

Henri took the proffered hand. "Thank you, sir," he said, "From the bottom of my heart, thank you."

Meanwhile, while this exchange was going on, Liberty sat alone in the parlor. Her mother and sisters were cooking supper, and so she had no one to talk to. Her seven year old brother Matthew had wandered into the room about a minute after Henri and her father had left, but he hadn't stayed long, hurrying away after she had started talking about her wedding. So now she sat alone in her father's big chair, nervously twisting her diamond ring about her finger, waiting and wondering. Would everything turn out alright? Would she and Henri have the wedding they wanted? Would they finally be able to be together? Everything depended on what was going on in her father's study right now.

While she waited, she forced herself to think of something better. Henri loved her, he really loved her. It was all so strange. Just a day ago, she had thought all her dreams of happiness were over, that Anne would become Mrs. LeFerve, and she herself would be doomed to live alone. But now, she had heard him say those three words that meant he wanted her and her alone. And she was so very thankful for that.

She heard the door of the study open, and in a few moments, Henri and her father were standing in the parlor doorway. "Smile, Libs," said her father, "You're going to have a wedding a week from now."

"Papa!" she exclaimed, "Do you really mean it?"

Her father wrapped her in a hug. "Of course I mean it. You do love him, don't you?"

"Do I love him! Of course I do!" She fled to Henri's arms, and he pulled her close.

"I think I'll leave the two of you alone for a minute," said her father, and he went off to the kitchen to find his wife.

Once he was gone, Henri pulled Liberty even closer and showered her with kisses. "We did it," he whispered jubilantly in her ear, "We really did it!"

She giggled. "Don't be so sure-we aren't married yet. I can still change my mind, you know."

"But you wouldn't do that, would you?" he said teasingly.

"What do you think?" she laughed.

"I think that you want me to kiss you right here." He nuzzled the side of her neck.

"You're very astute," she whispered.

"I know." And then he kissed her.

_Can I get a collective "Awwww"? Umm...I think you know the drill by now. Reviews are always nice. There should be two more chapters after this one, and then I'll let you know what else I've been working on/plan to work on. Sound like a plan? Love you guys! Mwah!_


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